He dug his heels into his horse’s flank and thundered down the road towards her, his heart hammering with the certainty that he would find her.
Even if it meant wandering every street until he caught her scent on the wind.
Chapter 45
Witch Who is Not a Witch
Elizabeth stared at the stubborn candle, willing it to light. After a few minutes of producing nothing—not even a whisper of smoke—she gave up.
“Try again, dear. I think you almost have it,” Risna said kindly.
It was late November. Two and a half months since she’d fled Caspian’s castle, and she still failed at magic nearly every morning.
Her life was peaceful in Veridas—but she couldn’t shake a sense of urgency. She had a feeling that sooner or later, her freedom would be turned on its ear, and one of Caspian’s demons would come to call. She wanted to learn how to defend herself before that happened, but her magic remained maddeningly elusive.
Nasera bustled in with tea and drawled, “What are you failing to teach her now?”
“Don’t be pert, daughter. She is working very hard,” Risna admonished.
“Hard work with nothing to show for it.” Nasera scoffed. She had a fair point. Elizabeth conceded privately, but there was no need to be so rude.
Nasera plunked into the opposite chair as Risna drifted to the other side of the room. “Light the candle.”
Elizabeth tried. Nothing happened.
“Summon a ball of raw power,” Nasera ordered.
Nothing. The more irritated Elizabeth grew from being put on the spot, the smugger Nasera became. With a lazy flick of her fingers, Nasera lit the candle with purple flame.
Elizabeth loathed her for it.
“You are weak. Undisciplined.”
“I understand your frustration with me, and I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said abashedly. “You’ve both been lovely teachers. Someone urged me to learn all I can about my magic—said it’s important for me to survive, otherwise I wouldn’t keep bothering you.” She paused and felt the need to add, “I really am trying my best.”
“Your best.” Nasera snorted. She dangled a piece of rope in front of Elizabeth. “You have split one or two strands. A spell that, need I remind you, is one of the simplest we can devise.”
She didn’t know if there was anyone she had ever hated more.
“Cut the rope. Or we are done here.” Nasera’s voice was firm. “Make visible progress today, or I will consider the token fulfilled. There is nothing more we can teach someone unwilling to learn … or simply incapable.”
Her fists tightened in anger. She wastrying.
The candle flame flickered.
Nasera beckoned to her mother, and the two of them left her alone, giving her privacy to collect herself.
She stared at the dancing flame, the chaotic movement matching the anger in her heart. It wasn’t her fault the angel set her on such an impossible path.
Learn magic. Ludicrous.
She wanted nothing more than to prove Nasera wrong and rub it in their faces that the angel had been right. That she had magic, and she was worthy of their efforts.
She just didn’t know why her magic kept picking and choosing when to cooperate.
Then she noticed the most curious thing. As her anger ebbed and flowed, so did the fire. When she calmed, it burned lower.
On a whim, she thought of something that made her angry. Ambriel, his impossible requests, Nasera’s disdain, her father’s betrayal. To her surprise, the flame leapt higher.
